Bigger Love

A friend and I want a Commune. 

We want the same setup as "Big Love".  Three or four houses next to each other and a big swimming pool in the middle.

My house would be the Art house (or the limbs), where the kids come to express themselves and be free.  My friend's house would be the "Office" (or the brain) where the adults would have their "no kids" area, in other words... quiet.  The other house would be the entertainment (or the stomach), where we would go for meals, watching TV and welcome visitors.  The fourth house... we still don't know. 

But every time we face a problem, we immediately apply our "the commune!" and see how it would all work out:  carpools, lifeguarding, homework time, PMSing, traveling husbands, all of it.  The possibilities really are endless...

The only problem we've run into is that my friend and co-conspirator wants our husbands to live elsewhere and only come for visits when we "schedule them in".  To me, that is not a possibility, and if mine is the only one actually allowed to live in the Commune, I'm not sharing.

G

Little Monkeys

Why do I sometimes love to write and sometimes feel like my journal is this old aunt who talks too much that I owe a visit to?

What can I write about...  This weekend the girls (the real girls, not as in my women friends who are clearly too old to be addressed as such) are having a Disco party in honor of Peyton's birthday.  I will be attending as "hired help" (makeup artist) and the only reason our son and Peyton's brothers are allowed to attend is because Peyton said "they can be the waiters". 

I love my kids, I love my friends' kids and I have finally realized that my great idea to be a Kindergarten teacher when I was 17 was actually a moment of sheer brilliance, but as with everything that would have been the right choice for me, I ignored it.

I still want another baby with an unwilling husband.  I'm one of those pathetic women who oogle at babies in church, at the supermarket, and anywhere people take babies, and as much as I wish I wasn't like that I really, truly cannot help myself.  Just yesterday I saw a 3-year-old little girl at this birthday party who had spina bifida and was just the cutest thing I've ever seen.  She had the cutest smile, was so full of life and just amazing...

...and as with most people I've met who have children with disabilities, they considered Mary a perfect blessing, and deemed themselves incredibly fortunate for having her, as she is so wonderfully precious...

Sperm bank recommendations, anyone?

G

Inch sale

Yesterday was the big "Yard Sale" at our daughter's school.  Of course I went by (with 4 kids, nevertheless) to help support the cause...

I had always heard the French were dirty, but this was ridiculous.  They had stuffed toys with all kinds of filth caked on them, wine glasses with dust sitting so long you couldn't wipe them with your finger, and an actual porcelain doll with a huge crack parting her face in half and another one going down the chin.  Oh yeah, and all the porcelain dolls were dirty.  And the one w/the crack was $5.

Out of fear, we didn't even look at the clothes laid on top of a tarp on the floor.  My daughter did, however, find some really cute cushions which I checked thoroughly and deemed safe, only to have someone else try to buy them and got snapped at by a French woman I know when I tried to correct the situation...  I know... I try not to generalize but I swear it was so true to "form", the whole experience and everything I'd ever heard about the French...  sigh...  I really did want to enjoy it, I really did!!

And don't even get me started on the woman who was drinking coffee out of a travel mug that had crap caked onto the sides of its opening...  ick.

Call me a bitch if you want, but I left the place feeling all dirty and kind of itchy.  I know it was all mental, just as it was when I saw the movie "Maria Full Of Grace" and felt like taking a dump the whole time, but what can I say?  I have a very active imagination...

G

Thermal Age

Today I was talking to a friend of mine about this procedure called "Thermage", which is supposed to shrink your skin and get rid of sagging, wrinkles, acne and other unwanted things...  all because I saw a brochure on it at the Dr.'s office.

The funniest thing I heard all day was my friend telling me about these wrinkles she has on her forehead (btw, I know she's reading this) and I suppose because she's had them all her life, she blurted out "they are a birth defect", which sent me on a giggling spiral.  Of course soon after I said, "I have a birth defect: my nose is too big", or "I have a birth defect: I'm ugly" and just went down from there (I have a big ass, I'm stoopid, my eyes are too small, etc.) until we probably wore the darn thing out.

Anyway, I'm glad I don't own a t-shirt company.  Or a sticker company.  Otherwise I'd be having these moments of brilliance all too often and would run to print my ever-so-clever ideas which would end up being given away to my friends as gag gifts and would never sell, and I'd go broke.

G

When all else fails...

...write on your journal.

Thanks to Wendela and her gathering of our virtual posse, the calvary came and when the dust settles we'll know if the guys in white really won (2 weeks from now).  But as with any battle there were some casualties and everyone gets either dirty or scarred...

My parents' lawsuit has ended.  I feel so much anguish writing this, but I have to write because at the moment I have nowhere else to go dump.  I spoke to my mom and she told me how my step-dad had to hear all these horrible things his children thought of him and said about him.  Although my mom has been attacked from all sides, she kept her cool and seemingly passed her testimony with flying colors, or, as I like to say, with the truth.

Suffice it to say that words were so damaging, they do not need to be repeated.  But, when the case was over, and my parents left the courtroom my step-dad looked over at his children and cried.

For those of you who know Bob, you know this is utterly devastating.  For those of you who don't:  this is the one man I've ever known that could instill fear in anyone, the man who would never cry, the man who was self-made and tough as nails.  Nowadays, he doesn't like to shave, doesn't drive, and loves books on tape.  And is killing me.

I don't really want to be a drama queen, or come across as one.  But by nature I have this very strong urge to go to my step-dad and hug him, and make him feel so much love that it will help alleviate that which his biological children took away (at least in my mind).  And as it stands right now I can't, and most likely never will.  There is such a strong chance that he will pass away before I see him, it's killing me. 

Today I told him I loved him, and he told me he loved me too.  His voice was much quieter, though, almost faint.  I thank God my mom didn't leave him, and I hope at some point he will realize that he is loved, above money, above blood, above all things material.  Unconditionally.

I wanted a father to replace the one I lost.  His children have a father who want to replace him with money.  But it's ok.  Because in my mind my real dad is in heaven and my step-dad loves me like a daughter, and as long as that bond is strong, whether one-sided or not, it's unbreakable. 

G

Today, Tuesday part 2

My mom and step-dad went to court today to continue the battle with my step-shithead.  Although it again dragged on needlessly, it seems the guys in white are going to win, and the guys in black will not, as every good ol' Western should be.

Thanks to my idiot step-brother having less intelligence than I ever thought, he lied on the stand.  There is proof of what he tried to deny and by golly the lawyer wearing white will get 'im.

Because for the outcome to be any different would be so wrong.  So incredibly wrong that I would have to go to some special doctor to erase all the memories I have of fairy tales and Westerns and Charles Bronson going after some guy who killed/raped/attacked his wife/daughter/significant other to get justice...

G

Today, Tuesday...

I got the call from the dermatologist (actually it was one of the girls in his office) to tell me I'm not going to die.  Whatever funk is on my skin is benign (all 3 of them), so now I'm just left with a sting every time I sit down and no desire to show off my cleavage or any part thereof or to wear tube tops (ok, that one is not new).  Those little scabby scars are so incredibly ugly, and remind me of old people who've had cancer removed from their face.  I don't know why that is, but that's how I link them... maybe because the first time I ever saw such a thing was on an elderly person.  No wait, that's the only time I've ever seen those, only on old people.  So now that I'm not going to die, I can go back to freely obsessing over getting old.

G